Suspects
by NeverGoesToSleep
Summary: All of the evidence is telling me he did it...so why can't I still believe it? *Rated T because it's a murder mystery.*
1. Welcome To This Story

***Yeah, so this is an idea I came up with. But anyways, I have a favor to ask you people: Could you check out my story called the Chronicles Of Gwen? It's my favorite story I've written, and I got less than five reviews for two chapters. -.- Anyways, please enjoy this :)***

I sighed as I looked around the police station. Being a detective isn't all it's cracked up to be on _CSI_. Yeah, I know what you're thinking, what am I doing as a detective? Well, it turns out the art business isn't all it's cracked up to be either. I was behind on my rent and my pieces just weren't selling. I had an older aunt who used to live in this town, and whom had a favor to ask of the sheriff, and ta-da! I ended up here. It wasn't so bad, I mean I get a gun, and I can look at gory bloodfests all day without people thinking I need therapy, but it also had a downside. For one, I had to dye my hair due to the "no crazy hair colors" policy. I twirled a piece of my black waist-length hair in between two of my fingers. I basically dressed as "Gothic" as I could without violating the dress code. I was allowed to wear a choker, I've had the thing since I was fourteen. I was also wearing a form-fitting plain black T-Shirt and black jeans that were tucked into my combat boots. They were allowed, as long as the creepy little supervisor's assistant gave the okay on heel height. I had a black belt around the jeans as well. What was the other cruddy part of being a detective? The teasing NEVER stops!

I'm only nineteen, which _is _pretty young for a detective, but I don't see why it calls for all the teasing by the older cops. Last week, one guy from the SWAT team replaced my water bottle for a baby bottle. Real mature.

I propped my head up on my arm right when the phone rang. I answered before the second ring.

"Hello?" I asked excitedly.

"Um, is this Detective Gwen Ash of the-" The voice asked. The man sounded African-American.

"Yeah, that's me." I confirmed.

"Well, we've got a four-nineteen in the alley between Todd and West Nineteenth Street. Cheif said to you and your partner over here ASAP." The guy said.

"I'll be there." I said before slamming the phone back onto the reciever. I poked my head out the nearby window. It was a slightly chilly night. I grabbed my hoodie off of my desk chair and zipped it up halfway before grabbing my gun and attaching the holster to my belt. I slid my I-Phone into my pocket and grabbed my keys before running down to the police parking lot. I heard my feet slap on the concrete as I searched for mine and my partner's black SUV. I found it with her at the wheel. She was buckling her seatbelt and looked like she was on the phone with someone. I opened the passenger seat door and hopped into the seat.

"No, no. I want sunflowers!" She yelled into the phone. I looked at her a little funny. She _never_ yells. "Ugh!" She said, then rolled her eyes and slammed her cell shut.

"What was that about, Bridgette?" I asked. Yeah, that's right, Bridgette Halifax is my partner on the force. She did start out as a pro surfer after the show, but like me, she didn't have the best of luck. After surfing through some rough waters in Hawaii, she tore her knee and couldn't surf anymore...well, at least she couldn't surf pro. And apparently, my little old aunt's got this town wired. So, Bridgette became my partner.

"Wedding stuff." She replied wearily as she backed out of the parking garage. Detective Bridgette Halifax was set to become Detective Bridgette Stapleton as soon as she got married to her fiance, Geoff, they were still going strong.

"Isn't that what you hired a planner for?" I asked my long-time friend.

"I know it is. But I just want to make sure Beth knows EXACTLY what I want." She answered at a stoplight.

"You hired Beth?" I asked curiously. I knew she had become a wedding planner, but she lived in like New York City or something...right?

"Of course I did, but I'm seriously reconsidering. Planning this thing over the phone isn't as easy as I thought." She said as she nervously pulled her engagement ring up and down her finger. It was really beautiful, a huge sparkly diamond in the shape of a surfboard. Leave it to Geoff to be completely flashy and unpractical. Soon, she pulled over to the curb, and I knew we had arrived. I slipped either of my hands into my back pockets and waited for Bridgette to come. She was threading her enormous amount of blonde curls through a baby blue elastic that matched her quarter-sleeve button-down perfectly. Once it was done, she patted her blue skinny jeans and we walked over to the alley. There were red and blue police lights flashing all over the place, and caution tape covering the entrance to the alley. I pointed to the gold badge on my waist as the dark-skinned policeman lifted the yellow tape to let me by.

This place was a real sight. Sure, this wasn't the better part of town, but this was hardly what I had expected. Right in the middle of the alley was a white sheet with dark brown or red splotches smudged here and there. The sheet was, as always, covering a lumpy mound that used to be a real, living, person. there were little yellow triangles scattered all over the place that each marked a piece of evidence. The highest number I spotted was thirty as I strode over to the white mound. crouched over the covered body was Our M.E. (A/N: Means medical examiner, or that they do the autopsies) Dr. Noah Hollister. Yeah, Noah was the town's coroner. He used to tell me when we were on the show that he always knew he would end up working with dead people, and apparently he was right.

"Hey Noah, what've we got?" I asked, pulling on a pair of latex gloves, which would ensure that I wouldn't disturb the crime scene. I crouched down across from him and he flipped the white sheet off her face. The body was of a pale, middle-aged woman. She had short choppy brown hair that was mostly a bloody mess.

"Cause of death was a stab to the heart with a small knife not found here." He explained, I pulled the sheet back a bit more to get a better look at the wound. There was only one of them, so the killer was obviously experienced. There wasn't much blood on her muticolored floral blouse, but she was lying in a huge pool of it. She didn't look like she belonged in this neighborhood.

"Do we have a name yet, Doctor?" I asked Noah.

"Oh, police identified her as Christie Shane." Said a young lab tech who happened to be walking by and heard our conversation. I nodded as if to say "thanks", and he continued to snap photos.

"Hey, Bridge! Come here!" I yelled. She was standing out of the tape by a group of people about our height. She had her notebook flipped open and it looked like she was writing something down. She hesitantly walked under the police tape and slowly made her way over to me and the body.

"Those guys over there found him." She began, pointing to where she was standing before.

"And?" I asked eagerly.

"A good half of them are stoned." she said as she still scribbled in her notepad.

"Well, Bridge!" I yelled, grabbing her shoulder as she statred to walk away. She looked at me and I asked what I was wondering. "Does she look familiar to you?" I whispered as I pointed to the dead body. She tapped her pen on her chin and looked at the face of the victim. Bridgette usually doesn't look at the dead bodies, she can hardly take it most of the time, but this woman seemed familiar.

"Hm, a little." She said slowly. "Name?" She asked.

"Christie Shane." I replied. She tapped her pen on her chin again.

"What exactly did she do for a living?" She asked. Wow, she's really getting into this detective thing. I looked to Noah for an answer.

"She produced TV Shows or something." Noah said as he began to write something down on his clipboard. I gasped.

"Could it be?" I whispered. Did someone murder one of the producers of _Total Drama?_

"Ask Noah." Bridgette commanded. I did as I was told almost immediately.

"Noah." I whispered, tapping his shoulder. He looked up from his clipboard and beckoned for me to get on with it. "Is she-" I began until Noah cut me off.

"Producer from Total Drama? Uh...yeah." He asnwered laxly, then dropped his attention back down to his clipboard. I decided to go try and interview the druggies for myself. They had better listen to me. I dove under the bright yellow tape and crept over to the the police car where the local troublemakers were waiting. I snatched a notebook from a passing CSI and opened it to a fresh page.

"Okay." I began in a flat voice. "Tell me your names and exactly what happened. One of them grabbed my forearm and leaned close to me.

"I'd like to know your name, Babe." He whispered. He reeked of alcohol. I scoffed and pulled the arm he was holding away from him.

"Okay, all of the _sober_ ones tell me your name and exactly what happened." I clarified. They all looked at each with confused looks on their faces. I slapped my hand to my forehead. "Are any of you sober?" I asked desperately. There was a lot of junk in that alley that was seriously compromising evidence. I was desperate for a lead. One raised his hand comfidently.

"I'm pretty sober...and underage." He said. I rolled my eyes. Being a smart alec gets you nowhere with me.

"Is that so?" I asked, moving close to him. Well, he didn't smell like alcohol.

"You've got it, Sweetheart." he whispered, getting in my face as well. I cringed at the nickname.

"Name?" I asked, pushing it away from my mind.

"You first." He shot back. I rolled my eyes.

"Detective Tell Me Your Name." I replied. There were a few "oh's" from his buddies.

"They call me-" He began, but some other drunk guy ran over to us.

"Yo, Duncan!" The guy yelled.

"Thanks for ruining that." He said sarcastically. This day just keeps weirder and weirder. Could I really be talking to Duncan? There's only one way to find out...

***I felt like this was a pretty cruddy ending, but eh, please review anyways.***


	2. Running Through My Mind

***Hey, so I'm really sorry that I didn't update this any sooner, and I'm even sorrier that this chapter is so short. But I promise that the next chapter will be extra long. Enjoy!***

I wordlessly made my way back over to Bridgette.

"How are the drunks? Still drunk?" She asked. I was in no mood to joke.

"No!" I yelled. Then I thought about it for a second. "Well, yes, but that's not what I'm freaking out about!" I said as I grabbed Bridgette's and shook her She looked at me curiously.

"Okay, okay," She began in a failed attempt to calm my nerves. "Then what _are_ you freaking out about?" I silently turned her around to look at that group of hoodlums.

"Them." I said simply.

"What about them? Did they mess with you or something?" Bridgette pondered. I shook my head.

"I want you to look really close at..." I began, looking for the one that was giving me serious Deja Vu. I found him high fiving one of those social rejects. "That one. Closely." I ordered as I pointed at him with my right index finger. She squinted her eyes and shot her head out as far as her neck would allow. She stared for a good minute until she saw what I was losing it about.

"Are you sure that's _your_ Duncan?" She questioned. I scoffed and gave her a disapproving look.

"You know he hasn't been _my_ Duncan for a long time now." I said quietly.

"What's it been, a year?" Noah asked as he passed by with the body strapped to a stretcher.

"Eleven months!" I corrected him, mostly to his retreating back. I let out a low, angry growl and turned back to Bridgette.

"You should talk to him." Bridgette whispered.

"Oh No. NOT HAPPENING!" I yelled, adding a dramatic foot stomp to elaborate my defiance.

"Oh come on-" She began, but I shook my head again.

"I-I've got to go, Bridge." I said as I picked my keys out of my hoodie pocket and made my way to our black SUV.

"Wait! How am I supposed to get out of here?" She yelled while waving her arms over her head.

"Call a cab!" I answered as I hopped into the driver's side. I ignored her yelling jammed the key into the side of the steering wheel. I started driving nowhere, making an attempt to clear my head. The drive was just giving me more thoughts. What is Duncan doing here? It couldn't be to get his stuff back, I didn't have anything of his anymore, the memories were all I had. Of course, I'm not counting the ring, and he's not getting that back. I waited for a stoplight to come around, and when the light turned red, I commenced digging through my pockets until I felt something cold meet my finger. I pulled it out immediately. My engagement ring, which meant nothing now. Well, at least it didn't mean anything to anyone else. It was beautiful admittedly. A tiny onyx skull attached to a cold silver band. I squeezed it in my palm until I reached my destination, and it wasn't my house.

I walked up the small walkway to the shiny painted gold door. I rung the doorbell and waited for an answer.

"Hey Girl!" My closest friend (other than Bridgette), LeShawna Thomas yelled. She was the resident dress designer. She owns a small shop downtown that sells prom dresses, bridesmaid dresses, tuxedos, and she even designs wedding dresses every now and again. She looks the exact same as ususal. Long black hair in a ponytail, beauty mark on the face, and she was wearing her translucent purple nightgown, but she didn't look like she was asleep before answering the door.

"What's up?" I asked as I entered her house.

"Girl," She began, "first, I come home from an absolutely horrible date with Harold," She explained. Her and Harold were still on and off dating. He owns a comic book shop over in the next town. "And then, I get home and my phone is ringing off the hook. It was Beth wanting to know EVERYTHING about Bridgette's wedding dress!" She complained. I looked over to her coffee table and saw that there were sketches of tons of different dresses sprawled out all over the table, couch, and some parts of the floor. I picked up all of the papers and stacked them up on the small side table.

"Thanks." LeShawna said. I nodded sunk down into her beige colored couch. "What's wrong?" She asked before sitting down next to me.

"Why does there always have to be something wrong?" I asked, even though she was right.

"One, it's midnight and you're here, and two, you're wearing your wedding ring." She said, grabbing my hand. I didn't even realize I had put it on. I quickly slid it off my finger and shoved it in my pocket.

"Engagement ring." I corrected quietly.

"Well, what happened, girl?" She asked, staring at me without blinking. I sighed and began to tell my story.

"Bridge and I got called to a crime scene where one of the producers from Total Drama were stabbed. Took one right to the heart." I said as I pointed to my heart.

"Yeah," She urged.

"Well a few local thugs found her, and I went to interview them. I think one of them was Duncan." I said frantically.

"Wait, _your _Duncan?" She asked. I slapped my hand on my forehead.

"He hasn't been _my _Duncan for a long time, you know that." I scolded.

"Girl, why aren't you talking to him right now?" She asked in reply.

"Ugh!" I groaned. I don't want to even if it is him!" I yelled, standing up from the couch. I began pacing in front of her small TV. I felt a hand rest itself on my shoulder. LeShawna looked me dead in the eyes.

"Yes. You do." She said. I shook myself out of her best friend powers induced trance.

"No. I don't! You know how things ended between us last time we saw each other." I argued. I knew, however, that denial was futile. LeShawna was one of the few people on this planet that could read me like a book. She knew that that bloody crime scene was only place I wanted to be, especially if Duncan was there. But no, Duncan probably won't even remember me, and even if he did, he must have moved on by now. "Look, LeShawna. I came here to clear my head, and you know I love you and all, but you're just making it worse." I said honestly. Instead of a completely empty train of thought, it was as if everyone had a ticket to ride.

"I'm gonna make us some coffee, then, and you need to lay down, girl. YOu look pale." She said, making her way into the kitchen/dining room combo. I laughed at her.

"No way. I'm pale!" I said sarcastically. I did as she suggested, though. I unbuckled, unzipped, and untied my shiny black boots then set them down on the small metal section of floor LeShawna had installed in her living room specifically for shoes. I walked back over to the beige couch and stretched out across it. It wasn't helping anymore than LeShawna or the drive here did, but it sure was comfortable...

And before I knew it, I was asleep, Duncan running through my mind the whole time.

***So...what did you think? There'll be way more mystery and police-work in the next chapter as well, but for now, can you please review this one?***


	3. Witnesses

***Alright, so I wanted to say a little something first. People have been posting things that since school is in again, they won't be online anymore. I just wanted to let you know that I am not one of those people. I've been a little lazy the past couple of days, but from now on, you can almost always expect an update from me, just later in the day than usual. Anyways, enjoy!***

I grunted and shot up from where I was laying. I looked confusedly at my surroundings and smiled when I saw that LeShawna had put a blanket on top of me, plugged in my IPhone to charge, and set a steaming hot cup of coffee down on the nearby side table. I reached for the steaming mug and took a huge swig of the stuff. LeShawna could read me like a book even when I was sleeping. As I kept the navy blue mug on my lips, I thought about how to get ready for the day. I must still have some stuff here. When I first moved to this town, LeShawna and I were roommates until I had enough cash to buy my own place. And, when you make as much as I do, that doesn't take long.

When the cup was finally empty, I went to the back room of her house that was once my bedroom, and opened up the sliding doors that revealed some of my stuff. I was amazed at the amount of junk I left there. Not only was the closet stocked up with a good chunk of my wardrobe, but there was a box under the clothing that had some of my make-up, a toothbrush, hair products, and even a few pairs of my socks in it. I pulled what I needed out of the box before going over and picking my clothing. I ended up grabbing a form-fitting black polo shirt with a tiny silver skull embroidered on the left side of the shirt near the top. For the bottoms, I picked up a teal pair of jeans that had chains attached to them all over the place, so they jingled every time I moved. I just ran my fingers through my long black hair a bit before moving on to make-up. I did my usual eyeliner, eyeshadow, and teal lipstick to match my jeans, as it no longer matched my hair. I had just finished brushing my teeth when I heard the doorbell ring. I carefully attached my gun and holster to my jeans before opening the door.

"Hey." Bridgette said as she yanked the ponytail out of her hair, allowing her blonde locks to flow free all over her baby blue long-sleeved T-Shirt.

"I'll be right there." I said as I grabbed my shoes off the metal plate by the door. I walked backwards to the couch and zipped up the boots carefully so that I didn't snag the zipper on my greenish-blue jeans. Once they were on, I picked up my gold badge and put it on my pants near my gun, and then put my phone in the pocket nearby. I looked at the ground as I walked back to Bridgette, noticing how her gray bell bottom jeans and white slip on Vans contrasted greatly from my clothing.

"Here." She said as she tossed me something. I looked up just in time to catch it. It was a few oatmeal raisin cookies inside a clear cellophane pack, and was tied at the top with various different colors of curly ribbons.

"What's this for?" I asked, examining the package. Oatmeal raisin were my favorite. She looked up from her phone she was texting on.

"You didn't eat breakfast right?" She asked. Am I really that transparent? I just gave her a sheepish look until she nodded.

"I figured. Come on, let's go. You can eat on the way." She said. She was still texting on her phone. I nodded anyway and we began to walk down LeShawna's street until I realized something: Why were we walking?

"How come we're walking?" I asked.

"I could use the exercise if I'm going to fit into my size two wedding gown." She sang. Then, her face got more sour as she looked at her phone.

"Bridge, I don't think it's possible that you would _not_ fit into that dress." I said. "But what's wrong?" I then asked. The sour look was still plastered on her face. She shook her head and began walking in step with me.

"This is all so iffy." She said.

"I know. I mean, a famous producer found dead in an alley with only one scarily precise stab wound through the heart. It's just weird." I commented while the two of us crossed an empty street. She flung her cell phone shut and shoved into her gray jeans.

"No. I mean, the DJ for the reception's bailing on me because some other couple's going to pay him one-hundred and seventy dollars more!" She whined. I looked disappointedly at her.

"Can we focus a little here? There's a woman, and she's dead, remember? Murdered?" I asked as we finally turned the corner to the local police station.

"Right. Sorry." She said. I smiled at her and we silently walked up the steps of the precinct. "Well, we'll see what the uniforms dug up last night at the scene." She said hopefully. I nodded as we made our way into the building. We walked past everything until we saw our two that we had turned to face each other. Mine was closer to the hallway, while Bridgette's was closer to the wall. To the far right was a large whiteboard on wheels that the dark-skinned cop from last night was taping photos from the crime scene on.

"Hey. What's the deal?" I asked him. Bridge and I sat down in our rolling desk chairs and spun them to the right until we were facing him.

"Christie Shane, forty-four years old. Found dead in the alley last night between Todd and West Nineteenth Street. confirmed that the cause of death was a single stab wound, right through the heart." He explained.

"Do we think it was a professional hit?" Bridgette asked him.

"Chief doesn't think so. It's a skilled murder, but there's no similar unsolved cases in the database." the cop answered. Bridgette tapped her pen on her chin, and in a chain reaction, I picked mine up and did the same.

"Anything else?" I asked curiously.

"She was found by a couple kids. Most were stoned, stashed them in holding cells overnight." he answered.

"Alright. Thank you for the briefing." Bridgette said politely. We both slightly waved to him as he walked off. Then, we turned to each other and gave "the look".

"What should we do first?" I asked.

"Well, Why don't we start with the delinquents?" She asked hopefully. I was about to say yes when I remembered that one of the delinquents gave me the shiny engagement ring in my pocket.

"Bridgette, you know what I'm going to say, and the answer is no." I said firmly. She pouted a bit in an attempt to change my mind, and a failed one at that.

"Come on, please? For the case. We need to know if they saw anything last night. According to this," She began, holding up the manila folder that had a whole bunch of case-relative papers stuck inside it, "it says she wasn't left there long. If they saw someone running away, or getting into a car, and we don't ask them about it..." She trailed off there because she knew I knew what would happen if we missed a crucial part of the case like that. Say goodbye to our badges and guns. I sighed heavily and got up along with her.

"Fine. But _only_ for the case." I pointed out. She laughed silently to herself until we reached the holding cells down the stairs.

"Alright, let's start with those of you who aren't hungover!" Bridgette called through the tan painted bars of the small cell the group was in. Most of them moaned and rubbed their foreheads, all excet for the one that I was hoping would fake it.

"I'm sober detectives." He said as she stood up.

"There's a shocker." I said sarcastically.

"I wasn't with these guys all night last night." He responded.

"And you were where?" Bridgette asked him.

"Party with an old buddy who lives around here." Duncan answered with confidence that I didn't even know one could achieve.

"We'll need a name to confirm that." I said shakily. His voice still sent chills down my spine.

"Geoff Stapleton." Duncan answered, then he laughed a little before adding, "if he's still alive after last night. Woo, that's what I call a party!" He said dreamily.

Bridgette lost it. She grabbed his arm and pulled him right up to the barred wall.

"Why were you partying with my fiance?" She asked through gritted teeth.

"I-I don't know! I called him last night, and he said he was t this club! Wait...fiancee?" He asked curiously. "Bridgette?" He breathed. She let go of his arm and opened the cell door wide enough so he could just slip through. He slammed the door after that and looked at her. While she was locking the cell of hungover punks, he kept stealing glances at me. I forget how blue those eyes of his were. They could break the heart of any girl within miles, and boy did they ever. "Hey, wait a minute. if you're Bridgette, then that hot other detective..." He trailed off, and looked at me in amazement. "Gwen?"

***Do you like it? I felt like I made it pretty anti-climactic, but please review anyways!***


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